


The Chills

by Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathtubs, Castiel is a Good Friend, Dean is Not Amused, Fever, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, POV Dean Winchester, Podfic Welcome, Sam Has Puppy Dog Eyes, Sharing a Bed, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: When Dean gets whammied by "magic flu" that Cas can't cure, he's stuck on bed rest until it wears off on its own.





	The Chills

Dean woke feeling like death warmed over. Everything felt terrible — his back ached, his head hurt, his mind felt foggy, and the thought of eating breakfast made him want to lose his lunch. How had he gotten here? Where WAS here?

He tried moving and found that the bed creaked. At least he was on a bed, though. There were definitely worse places to wake up.

Forcing his bleary eyes open, the hunter peered at his surroundings. Yep, it was a motel room. The place was tiny and had wallpaper and decorating that looked like it was from the 70s. Everything was painted in gross pea soup green and lemon yellow. Ugh, the thought of soup really made him sick right now…

“He’s awake, Cas.” Sam’s voice caught his attention. Rolling his head to the side (and damn, that was a bad idea, because it started throbbing worse), Dean saw that his brother was across the room. Sam pushed a very small chair back from the equally miniature card table in the corner and started his way. All Dean could think was that the chair should not have been able to hold anybody Moose-sized, but he had more pressing questions on his mind.

“What the hell happened to me?” He opened his mouth and the dry hoarse voice that came out alarmed him.

“Oh, um. It’s temporary,” Sam assured him, like that explained anything. 

“Dean.” Cas stepped around the corner from the bathroom (why was he in there? Angels didn’t need bathrooms…) and headed straight over to stand with Sam at Dean’s bedside. He leaned and examined Dean’s face critically, squinting a little. “How do you feel?”

“Like hammered crap,” Dean replied miserably, coughing. His throat felt dry. Cas handed him a glass of water, and he blinked and sipped at it. Cas had been holding that the whole time, hadn’t he? Maybe that was why he was in the bathroom. The water only helped his voice a bit, but it was something. “Wh-what happened? Somebody?”

“You don’t remember?” Cas asked, back to squinting.

Dean blinked at him, trying to focus. His stomach was twisting in knots and his head really hurt. 

“I, uh…we were hunting a witch, right? I remember he knocked me into the table,” he offered. That was really the last thing he could remember — hitting the table, which was a little round thing with a bunch of spell ingredients stacked on top, and knocking herbs everywhere. There was nothing after that — he was waking up here next. 

Sam turned and sat on the side of the bed, patting Dean’s shoulder. 

“That table had spell ingredients on it,” he stated the obvious, earning a scowl from Dean. The next part clarified it, though. “Cas says you got hit with some side effects of the spells they were for. Nothing that’ll hurt you, but you probably feel pretty sick.”

“FEELS like it’s hurting me,” Dean groaned, dragging a hand up to rub at his eyes. “My damn head’s throbbing.”

He moved his hand to frown at his little brother when he felt the touch to his forehead.

“You’ve got a bit of a fever, too,” Sam assessed, exchanging a glance with Castiel. “You sure there’s nothing you can do for him, Cas?”

The angel shook his head, turning apologetic blue eyes on Dean. 

“It’s a magic illness, so I can’t heal it. The effects should wear off in a day or two on their own, though,” he promised.

“Days in this crappy little motel? Screw that, we’re goin’ home…” Dean stuck his arms under him and started to push into a sitting position, wincing at the way his head was throbbing. Pain he could handle — what he didn’t count on was the sudden wave of light-headedness. The world blacked out a bit, and he heard Sam talking and felt arms around his waist. 

“…Not a good idea, Dean! We’re four states away from the bunker.” Sam’s voice faded back in, and Dean found himself sitting in bed leaning against his brother, who was holding him up. Cas stood worriedly nearby, a hand hovered by his back in case he somehow managed to fall while still IN the damn bed. For people convinced he wasn’t seriously ill, they were being pretty clingy.

“…Son of a bitch,” he muttered, sighing. “Fine, let go of me. I’ll rest.”

For a bit.  


* * *

  
Dean may have been laying down, but he was not resting. “Rest” implied you started to feel better at some point, right? Three hours in, there was no sign of that. In fact, he felt worse than before — in the past twenty minutes he’d started getting cold spells, fine one moment then shivering and feeling so chilled that his teeth were chattering the next. 

Even though Cas had said the spell stuff would wear off on its own, Sam was over at the tiny table digging up whatever info he could on which spells used the ingredients he’d seen. What had the witch been trying to do, kill someone with misery? Dean was just seeing the side effects!

“Dean.” He looked up from another bout of shivering and hugging the blanket around himself to find Castiel by his bedside. The angel held up a bowl and spoon, explaining, “I prepared some soup for you. Apparently it cures the common cold.”

“Th-th-that’s n-not what I hav-ve,” Dean jittered, looking at the soup bowl miserably. The IDEA of eating soup was a good one, but actually smelling it made his stomach turn. He was pretty sure if he tried consuming anything but water he’d be throwing it up again shortly. He’d kept down the few sips of water from earlier, but just barely.

Cas sat the soup on the bedside table (where unfortunately the smell wafted right over to Dean quite a bit) and turned to pull the blankets off of the other bed. He put them on Dean’s bed over the ones that were already there, tucking the corners in around his shoulders. Next he placed a hand on the hunter’s forehead, and he felt so much warmer than Dean that it just plain wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t like he could ask Cas to get in bed with him. How weird would that look?

Cas — his weird, awkward angel best friend — would snuggle up with him in a heartbeat if he asked. Getting cozy with him would be less weird than cuddling up to Sam, but only by a little bit. What Dean really wanted was for this stupid magic to wear off so he could regulate his own damn body temperature again, like an adult.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he found the angel’s blue eyes trained intently on him. “You’re feverish, and you feel too cold. Would you mind if I sat with you under the blankets?”

No, that sounded frickin’ amazing. Thank god he was offering and Dean didn’t have to ask. Still, he had an image to uphold.

“What f-for?” He chattered, leveling a suspicious look at his pal. He got a suspicious squinting look in return, and they sat there for a long minute, both just staring. 

“To keep you warm,” Cas replied finally, in a tone that said that should be really obvious. Dean glanced over at Sam to check if he was paying attention. Nope…nose buried in a book. Not that he wouldn’t notice if he happened to glance their way.

Dean was shivering too much to have much pride at the moment, and the memory of Cas’s nice warm hand on his forehead was what made him sigh and look back to his friend.

“G-good idea. C-c-c’mon, hop in,” he chattered, nodding down at the edge of the blankets. Moving much was a mistake…oww, damn his head hurt. 

Castiel moved the blankets aside, looking regretful about the cold air that hit Dean and set off a whole new round of shivers. He climbed into the bed on the same side as the bed stand with the soup, pulling the blankets up over both of them again. He felt so, so warm — even the beat up trench coat felt downright cuddly. How could he be this warm while Dean felt like he was outside in the arctic? 

He leaned up against Cas, trying to be subtle about pressing as close to his side as possible. When the angel put an arm around his shoulders he knew he’d failed. If he was gonna look pathetic anyway, may as well be pathetic and warm — Dean turned on his side and hugged Cas around the waist, burying his face in the front of the trench coat. He was still shivering, but this was so much better than slowly freezing under the blankets by himself that it was embarrassing. He prayed Sam didn’t comment.

“He’s busy reading,” Cas offered quietly, glancing down at him. Right, trust a friggin’ angel to hear a prayer THIS close. Dean patted his back, still clinging since he was so warm. How did Cas smell like aftershave when he didn’t have to shave? How exactly did that work…?

“Oh, good. Great. I f-feel better already,” he mumbled.

“You should try to eat some of the soup,” Cas said, studying his face with obvious worry. “You don’t usually go without food for long, Dean.” 

He had to remind him. The idea of eating food sounded awesome — it was just smelling or seeing actual food that made him feel like he was going to hurl. 

“T-trust me…I’ll barf,” he warned Cas. “I’ll try later. Promise.”

Cas pulled the blankets up higher to cover his shoulders again, and Dean sighed, closing his eyes. The shivering had almost stopped. He might actually be able to sleep like this.

He’d barely finished that thought before he was out like a light.  


* * *

  
“Dean?” The hunter rose from strange dreams about shifters that turned into inanimate objects, squinting at the ugly green and yellow decor of the motel room. It was actually slightly more appealing than the mental image of a toaster shedding a bloody skin on the floor. Ugh. 

“Dean,” Sam repeated, and Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. He gave his brother a groggy frown. He still felt just god awful — aches and pains everywhere, kind of short of breath, and even Cas cuddled up beside him in the bed didn’t completely stop him from feeling cold. 

Realizing that Sam was seeing him being all snuggly with the angel, Dean forced himself to push away and hug the blankets instead. Cas wasn’t asleep, because he just plain didn’t sleep, but he didn’t try to stop Dean from moving either. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, sitting up. Dean clung to the blankets like they’d save him from the frigid air in the room, starting to shiver again immediately. 

“T-t-terrible,” he admitted, groaning. “This s-sucks.” 

“Sorry I had to wake you up,” Sam said, reaching over to feel his forehead. Like everybody lately. Dean looked at him miserably and didn’t comment. “Can’t go this long without some water, at least. You’re still a bit feverish,” Sam concluded, sighing. “Dean, I looked up the ingredients that were on the table, but since we don’t know which spells are affecting you, we’d better not mess with trying to modify them. I’m sorry, I hoped I could make something to help you feel better…” 

He had the start of those sad puppy dog eyes going, and was resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder now. It was a mystery how his brother could STILL look like a sad puppy now that he was a head taller than most normal people, but he could and did. He was so damn good at it that Dean almost apologized for making HIM feel bad. 

“I-it’s fine. I’ll live,” he sighed, voice hoarse again. Cas headed for the wet bar, saying something about a glass of water. 

Sam glanced over his shoulder after the angel, then turned hazel eyes on Dean again. So sad, so shiny. How did he DO that? 

“I-I’m sorry, Dean. You only got hit because I didn’t hit him fast enough.” He patted Dean’s chest through the blankets, brows furrowing sadly. “You could’ve got hit with something way worse than magic flu…”

“But that’s what h-happened,” Dean said, frowning. Sam was blaming himself this whole time? Actually, that was just like him. “Not your fault, Sammy,” he told his brother, taking a deep breath. “It’s the w-witch’s fault, okay? And I’ll be f-fine.”

Sam still looked glum, but he nodded. Dean grabbed the hand on his chest and gave it a squeeze, trying to be reassuring at the risk of looking like a sap. Hand holding didn’t really bother him right now, because everybody’s hands were warm. The truth was if not for Cas, he’d be convinced he was gonna fall asleep and not wake up. He felt beyond terrible, and he probably looked it, too. But Sam kicking himself was going to do exactly zero to help with that.

Cas returned with glasses of water, handing one to Sam before placing the other on the bed stand. 

“You haven’t eaten or drank, either,” the angel told Sam almost sternly when he looked like he was about to protest. Dean smiled a bit at that. Cas reminded him of himself right then, watching out for Sam.

Sam drank his water, and Cas helped Dean up to sip from the second glass as well. If it was possible, he felt worse than before sleeping, but his stomach seemed a little better. The water stayed down, that had to count for something, right?

…Did he dare try to get some food down? 

It took about two sips of water before he was looking at Cas with the best imitation of Sam’s puppy eyes he could muster.

“Think you could make me some more soup, Cas? My s-stomach’s better,” he said, shivering again. The shivering worked for the pathetic puppy look, so he almost didn’t mind at the moment. Having his teeth chatter was damn annoying, though.

The angel opened his mouth to reply, but then Sam turned to look at him, too. The sad puppy look didn’t have an off switch for him when he felt down, so Cas got sad, shining eyes trained on him all-around.

“Yes,” he said, looking determined. “You both should eat. I’ll make extra.” With that, he turned so quick his trench coat flew out, retreating to the motel’s very tiny wet bar to microwave a few cans of Campbell’s.  


* * *

  
Much to Dean’s relief, the smell of hot soup no longer made him want to hurl. That was the good news. The bad news was that, even though it tasted good and was miraculously warm (thanks to the microwave in their room, not Cas performing any actual miracles…he was pretty sure), Dean didn’t really have much of an appetite still. He also still felt light-headed, and being spoon-fed soup by Sam was kind of embarrassing. Now his brother AND Cas had seen a new level of pathetic. What a great week.

The soup made the shivers go away for awhile, and Dean managed to actually fall asleep without having to be cuddled by Cas again like a small child. With any luck, he’d sleep off the rest of this stupid magic sickness and wake up at 100 percent.  


* * *

  
He woke in the small hours of the morning, not because he felt any better, but because his bladder insisted. Why did people always need to hydrate so much when they were sick? Cas had given him both water and soup, and most of that was liquids. If there was one thing Dean refused to let him or Sam help with, it was using the damned bathroom. 

The stubbornness was probably a good thing, since Sam was snoring over in his bed and Cas had apparently stepped out.

Struggling out of the blankets, Dean grabbed the cheap flimsy bed frame and pulled himself into a sitting position. There was an initial wave of dizziness, but it actually started to go away the longer he sat there. Not that he sat there long — when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Several minutes later, he stood in front of the sink, turning the faucet to wash his hands and feeling like he’d regained some bit of dignity overnight. He could eat again, he could go to the bathroom by himself like a big boy — next step, go get Baby and leave this crappy motel behind forever. So he was shaking like a leaf and could barely operate the soap dispenser. Big deal, a few more hours of sleep and he’d…he’d…

Dean blinked at his reflection in the mirror, catching sight of how pale he was — his face and lips were the same color. What…?

The next thing he knew, he was falling over like a tree, and his limbs refused to get under him and stop it. The resulting crashing sound must have awakened Sam, because his brother was hurrying in to his side shortly after.

“Dean! How’d you get in here?” He knelt down, rolling Dean onto his back and patting his cheek. Well, there went the dignity. Dean dragged his arms up to wrap around himself, shivering so hard his teeth were chattering again. That fall was definitely gonna leave a bruise or two.

“S-S-Sammy,” he jittered, “d-don’t even ask-k-k.”

Sam frowned, but shook his head and dismissed whatever he’d been about to say. He slipped an arm down under his brother’s shoulders, starting to pick him up. Instead he noticed how cold Dean felt to the touch, though, and laid him back down with a wide-eyed stare.

“W-w-what?” Dean chattered, shaking. Jesus, could he get on with it and get them back to the bed already? That’s where the blankets were, and Dean was convinced that blankets were the only way he would not expire from the cold in a few minutes. If Cas was there, he’d even ask to be cuddled again, it was that bad. Maybe he should ask Sam…

“You’re way too cold,” Sam again stated the obvious, brows pinching into the start of the sad puppy face. Man, not again. Deja vu much? Instead of giving Dean any pleading looks, though, his little brother scooped him up and got to his feet. 

Oh, thank God. They were going back to the bed with the blankets and…

Wait, Sam was just turning and carrying him across the room. The bathtub? Hell no, getting wet sounded HORRIBLE right now — washing his hands had felt like sticking them in an ice-box! 

“What’r-r-re you d-doing?” Dean chattered from where he’d just been propped up against the side of the tub. As if it wasn’t obvious with Sam turning the knobs and water rushing into the tub. “Are you c…c-crazy?”

“This isn’t the normal flu, Dean,” Sam said grimly. “Who knows how low it’ll make your temperature go? Blankets aren’t helping, so it’s hot bath time.” When Dean opened his mouth to attempt to protest, Sam patted his shoulder gently and added, “I won’t let you fall asleep in the tub or put your head under or anything like that.”

Gee, that made him feel better about freezing to death before either of those had a chance to happen.

The sound of the door slamming somehow escaped both of their notices — probably because the bath water running was loud, and Dean felt dizzy and out of it, damn it. When Cas stepped into the open doorway and found Sam pulling Dean’s shirt off for him and the rest of his clothes discarded on the floor, the three of them froze and stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally, a bit sheepishly, the angel held up the grocery bag he was carrying.

“I got more soup.”

“Th-th-thanks,” Dean jittered, cringing at the cold air on his skin. He didn’t want to get into the tub, he wanted to burrow into the blankets on the bed and never come out. Now that he’d shed his clothing, freezing to death seemed like a literal possibility. Maybe the witch had been trying to make people into ice sculptures.

Sam turned and twisted the bathtub knobs to turn off the water, and Cas sat the grocery bag in the doorway and quickly crossed the room.

“Let me help.” He scooped Dean up easily from the floor. If cuddling up to him before had been embarrassing, being carried around naked was ten times worse. Dean was never going to live this down — especially since he was too cold to resist clinging. 

“Dean. Let go,” Sam said, patting his shoulder. Realizing that Cas was trying to lower him into the bath and couldn’t detach him, Dean fought the instinct to cling even more to the nearest heat source and loosened up his grip around Cas’s neck. The bath water felt like it should be hot enough to scald, but even being submerged in that up to his chest (not neck — damn the tiny bathtubs the motel had) only felt warm. Still, he’d take warm over the icy tundra that was the bathroom tiles.

Sam and Cas sat beside the bathtub on the floor. The angel wore a concerned frown, and Dean’s brother kept a hand leaned on the edge of the tub like he’d actually have to keep Dean from ducking his head under. 

If the tub had been deep enough, Dean had to admit that he would’ve been tempted. Every part of him above the water was still freezing, and even in the bath it took awhile for the shivering to stop. 

“Well, this sucks,” he said, after his teeth finally stopped chattering. Now that he finally felt warm, his eyes were starting to get heavy. Warm bath, only sleeping half the night, barely eating anything — he was actually exhausted, now that he stopped to notice. 

“You’re getting better, I think,” Sam said, trying to look on the bright side. He smiled and reached to pat Dean’s shoulder, but the look Dean gave him stopped that. Patting while naked in the tub was just one step too weird.

“Sam’s right,” Cas agreed, glancing at him. Dean did his best to sink down into the water further, even though it wasn’t exactly covering anything up. “You can eat again, and the spell effects can’t last for much longer than this. Only so much of the ingredients got onto you.”

“Great,” Dean mumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open. A wave of sleepiness had just washed over him, and he was pretty sure he was going to pass out right then and there. “Bed. Fallin’ asleep…” Did that come out the way he’d thought it? His mind felt fuzzy, and he wasn’t sure.

He was vaguely aware of Sam and Cas talking, but whatever they were saying was distant and unimportant. What was important was that he was being lifted out of the tub and wrapped in blankets, and he actually still felt warm. He was bundled up and hugged by somebody, but he couldn’t tell if it was Sam or Cas. The world was already fading — hopefully just to dreamland.  


* * *

  
Dean woke feeling hung over: there was a dull ache in his head, he was really thirsty, and he had the distinct feeling he’d done something stupid the night before. 

“He’s awake, Sam.” Oh, and he was apparently cuddled up against Castiel’s side, wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito. The voice right by his ear was what made him open his eyes finally. 

“Cas,” he said, voice scratchy. Waking up being hugged by Cas wasn’t so bad. He definitely didn’t feel cold now, which was a relief.

“Hello Dean,” Cas replied, glancing down at him. He studied Dean’s face, feeling his forehead, and smiled softly. “You’re better, aren’t you?”

“I think…?” Dean blinked, glancing at Sam as he hurried over to the bed. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep in the tub.” Sam exchanged a glance with Cas and then turned back to Dean, smiling. It was an actual, genuinely happy smile, which was pretty rare to see on his face these days. “So we wrapped you up in blankets and let you sleep it off.”

Dean glanced at Cas. Where exactly had cuddling him in bed come back into the equation?

“I was concerned that you would be chilled again,” the angel explained a bit awkwardly. “So I lay down with you.”

“Are you better?” Sam reached and felt Dean’s forehead just like Cas had a minute ago. 

“I’m pretty sure, yeah. Could you guys, uh…loosen up the strait jacket, here?” Dean wriggled his arms where they were wrapped in the blankets against his sides to demonstrate. Cas quickly sat up and helped unwrap the blankets from his arms and shoulders. 

The air made Dean shiver a little, and he realized that he was wearing nothing except the blankets. Made sense…he’d been too out of it to get dressed again last night, right? Still felt kind of like being the only person to show up to the toga party in a toga, though.

Cautiously, he sat up in bed. He didn’t feel light-headed. The thought of food didn’t seem to trigger any urge to vomit. Maybe Sam was right and the bath was a cure-all. Next he tried moving his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Sam and Cas both kind of hovered like he was going to collapse at any minute, but he ignored them and hugged the blankets around his waist, starting toward the bathroom.

Thankfully, they didn’t try following him in.

When he returned to the bed a few minutes later, he’d managed to get dressed. Good thing Sam had left his clothes on the floor in there last night. Sam and Cas were talking quietly near the table, which was so tiny they both completely blocked his view of it just by standing there. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to go home.” 

The two exchanged a look, and he frowned at them. They couldn’t possibly want to stay in this cruddy little motel another night. Could they? If they did, they could take the bus home, because he was leaving.

Cas stepped aside, though, and gestured to the table — which held two pies, a tray of muffins, and what looked like a TUB of cream puffs. And espresso, a big espresso for each of them. Where did they hide this stuff?

Dean blinked at the beautiful sight before him.

“Whoa. Do I still have a fever?”

“Cas and I thought you might want some breakfast before we leave,” Sam told him, chuckling at the look on his face. Castiel seemed to find it endearing; his smile was a lot softer. 

“Sam agreed that you would rather have this than go to a cafe,” he explained, exchanging a look with Sam. Dean was pretty well recovered and didn’t have being sick as an excuse, but the occasion called for one more cheesy chick flick move. Stepping over to the table, he wrapped an arm around his brother and an arm around his best friend and hugged them both tight.

“You guys are awesome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this bit of silliness. Comments and kudos are very appreciated!


End file.
